Walls of Separation
by Lizzosaurus
Summary: Slight AU. Feliks, trapped within the enclosing walls of the ghetto, struggles to find a way to see an old, forgotten friend. If only one last time. Based loosely upon the events that took place within the Warsaw Ghetto, during WWII. Human names used.


Disclaimer of Hetalia? Obviously, considering this is a _fan_fiction. :)

Slight Hetalia historical AU based upon the events that took place within the Warsaw ghetto, Poland, between 1940 and 1942.

I am having difficulty with the format of this website and the way it laid out my words, so critique is always welcome!

* * *

I gripped the man's arm tighter, grunting as we slowly made our way down the abandoned, dirty streets.

Almost there.

A remarkable, impossible task we had set out to complete, but a task all the same.

"Are you sure you wish to help me, Tomasz?" I murmured. "There is no shame to be felt in leaving." I had long since dropped my chipper 'like's and 'totally's for proper grammar. If there was nothing to like, then why use such words? The man whose shoulder had been offered to me smiled brightly.

"We're all going to die sooner than later. What better evening to kick the bucket than on a moonlit winter's eve, assisting a fellow colleague?" At Tomasz's words, I allowed a fatigued grin to grace my lips.

"How do you know he will be there?" He asked, turning to look at me as we maneuvered down alleys and through corridors.

"I just do."

It was by sheer miracle that a guard had not yet approached us, inquiring our position so late after the evening curfew. Only the mad would be reckless enough to venture outside at this hour.

And maybe we were mad.

But it made naught a difference in this small world we were confined to. Clarity and distortion were measured equal in this sickening twist of fate. And so, we walked onward in silence, intercepted by neither man nor German, until at last the destination could be seen. The ghetto wall rose up to greet us, looming above our heads at a full 3. 5 metres. Crowned with barbed wire and plaited with dull brackish brickwork, its sole purpose was to effectively sever interference with Aryans.

It separated the Jewish, social filth, from the rest of the world, enclosing us within the cramped perimeter of Warsaw.

I pressed my chaffed, abused palms against the offending structure, my legs throbbing from the exhausting journey.

Tomasz laid a hand upon my shoulder.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He murmured quietly.

I nodded and waved him aside, slowly drawing myself back up.

"Feliks?"  
The quiet whisper drifted over the top of the barricade, barely audible even in the stillness of the night hours. All weariness was shaken from my limbs at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Tomasz, help me up!" I cried, grasping my friend's sturdy arms impatiently. He laughed, easily lifting my thin frame onto his shoulders.  
Even from atop Tomasz, my body length missed the edge of the wall by a full metre. Cursing under my breath, my hands grasped for any hold it could reach. A faint groan of exertion escaped my throat as I clambered upward on trembling arms.

Then dirtied fingers curled around the edge of the wall. Dragging my upper body forward with a final, desperate heave, I managed to lean my torso against the wide surface.

"You alright up there?" Tomasz gripped my feet firmly, now perched upon his shoulders like a delicate bird's.

I could not respond for sake of the laughter tumbling from my throat. He was there, waiting for me, spindly fingers reaching through the barbed wire to touch my face, my hair, my clothes- anything to show I was truly there before him. Emerald green eyes flickered with an implacable emotion as I grabbed the lapels of his jacket and drew him as close as the razor wires would allow.

"My friend, my friend, how I have missed you so..." I breathed.

Toris pressed his forehead against mine and smiled.  
Not the nervous, 'don't ask me if I'm alright' smile I had grown so accustomed to in the last few, bitter years.  
A true, genuine smile. Shining with the light of rye fields and lazy summer afternoons and tulip gardens.

I could see Eduard from where I stood, momentarily releasing his hand from Toris's oxford to wave warmly up at me.

They say when one dies, the world goes silent. A single moment of stillness is granted, a parting gift, before reality resumes its place, partaking once more within your conscience.

I saw it in Toris's face well before I heard it.

Those beautiful emerald orbs, bearing no less than sheer joy only moments earlier, widening with horror.

I heard his scream well before the ring of a gunshot ever touched my ears.

I felt his hands grasping desperately for my own, heedless of the disobliging barbed wire, well before the splitting agony blossomed in my side, spreading through my chest.

Then the moment was over, and I felt pavement slamming into my body as I was toppled from Tomasz's shoulders and the unforgiving cement rushed forward to greet me.

Darkness.


End file.
